


it was found, what we orphaned

by khakis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Break Up, Established Relationship, M/M, Road Trip, sad but happy but also sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:05:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khakis/pseuds/khakis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Liam have to say goodbye, so they take a road trip to do it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is so hard.” Liam’s voice is sleep-gruff and sad. He rolls his head a bit to look up at Louis, defeat written all over the lines of his face. “This is so hard.”</p>
<p>“D’you think this trip was a mistake?” Louis doesn’t know if he thinks it is or isn’t, yet, but he wants to know if Liam does. He <i>has</i> to know. “Have we fucked this up even more than we needed to?”</p>
<p>Liam takes his time answering. “No,” he says after a moment, looking at Louis intently. “No. Our relationship deserved this, yeah? We both deserved this.” He sits back on his heels; his hand stays where it’s come to rest on Louis’ neck. “It’s just hard.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	it was found, what we orphaned

**Author's Note:**

> this wouldn't have been possible without so many people i love!  
> thanks and kisses to mel and lindsay for your help, and especially to melooska, who did the impressive task of making this both cohesive and readable. 
> 
> if you're looking for a neat, happy ending, i'm sorry i can't promise it's here.
> 
> title from beth/rest by bon iver.

-

Breaking up is as inevitable as it is impossible.

Louis doesn’t even want to send in the application; it’s Liam who insists. “This is your _dream,_ babe,” he says, tucking an arm around Louis where he’s worrying the cuticle of his thumb between his teeth. The application for Columbia University’s theatre MFA program is open and ready to send on the computer in front of him, ominous and exciting in equal measure.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Louis says, his voice small. He picks absently at the hole forming on the inseam of the sweats he’s wearing. They were undoubtedly Liam’s at some point, nubby and worn-in and comfortable.

“You can. You _have_ to, Lou. There’s nothing that should stop you from going for this.”

Louis wriggles out from under his arm, twisting his back to press against the arm of the couch and leveling Liam with an unimpressed gaze. 

“You know exactly what’s stopping me.” Liam’s face stays impassive. “I probably won’t get in, anyway. Especially not with you forbidding me from just attaching a photo of my ass in lieu of recommendations.”

Liam’s smile is the kind of slow-burn grin that means he can’t help himself, one Louis is all too familiar with. It makes something in Louis’ chest loosen a bit. “I just don’t think you should make it that easy for yourself,” Liam says, "and you wouldn’t want to make it unfair for the competition, either." He’s smirking, now, but Louis sees in his face that he’s not going to let this go, not yet. He tucks a finger under Louis’ chin, looks at him for a moment before continuing.

“You’ve been talking about this since I met you. You won’t ever know unless you try.” Liam’s voice is infuriatingly calm, a kind of confidence in it that makes Louis want to throw things. Liam isn’t his _mom_ for godsakes. Why does he get to have so much faith in Louis? Why can’t Liam see how scary and big and definitive this choice feels?

“Hey. Louis.” Louis meets Liam’s eyes defiantly, fierce in his uncertainty. “Tell me the top three things that you want right at this moment.”

This is a game they play sometimes, ( _tell me three people you want to punch in the face right now, give me five songs that summarize your day_ ), but the stakes have never felt this high. Louis’ instinct is to deny him, play it off flippantly, but instead he takes a deep breath and tries to think and answer as thoughtfully as Liam would expect.

“I want to be with you,” he says, because that’s the easy one. Liam doesn’t say anything, but his hand sneaks out to grip the bony part of Louis’ ankle, his fingerprints soothing and warm.

“I guess I also want to travel.” This one isn't a surprise to either of them.

They’ve talked, recently, about various trips they’d like to take, places they want to explore together. Liam’s just landed his dream job, though, as a vet at the clinic he’s been lusting over since his second year in veterinary school at University of Washington. It’s a big deal, getting the job almost immediately out of school, and he’s only had it for just over two months. 

Louis’s thrilled for him, the way he glows in the evenings, telling Louis about the sweet litter of unexpected calico kittens he’d given shots to that day, or the ferret who’d snuck down his shirt to avoid having its teeth cleaned. The job is so new and Liam so excited that they’ve put their travel plans on hold for a while. He’s determined to prove he’s worth their trust in him before he takes time off.

“What’s number three, Lou?” Liam’s voice is gentle, like he knows what's coming, and it infuriates Louis that he’s right, that he _does_ know.

Louis sighs. He’s not brave enough to lie about this. To himself, maybe, but not to Liam. “I want to do theatre. In New York.” 

As thrilled as Louis is for Liam and his new job, he can’t shake the tendrils of jealousy that eat at him, the reality that teaching first graders soccer on the weekends and his part time job at Trader Joe’s isn’t going to fulfill him forever. Columbia has been the ultimate dream for years, since midway through high school, although in his pre-Liam era he’d all but abandoned it. He wants it so badly he thrums with it, some days.

“I think that’s your answer, babe.” Liam’s thumb rubs small circles over the swell of Louis’ anklebone. “You have to do it, for yourself, and for your family, and for Stan and Nick and for me, even, because when you’re at your best, so are we.”

Louis doesn’t trust himself to respond, not really. He takes a breath, lets it out between his teeth, picks up the laptop. He’s written a damn good application, photo of his ass excluded. He deserves this, he owes the chance to himself, he isn't unsure of that. He clicks through.

There's a beat before Liam speaks, his voice quiet and familiar. “Did you submit it?”

Louis nods, closes the laptop and then his eyes.

\- 

They don’t talk about it for a few days; there doesn’t seem to be much of a point. Louis won’t know if he’s accepted for months, and the chance is so slim, anyway. He tells himself that, over and over like a mantra while bagging groceries, brushing his teeth, falling asleep on Liam’s shoulder. Everything feels extra tiring with the possibility of massive change hovering just overhead. 

Stan gets a violent bout of food poisoning, so Louis’ coaching alone and working extra shifts at the same time, but it’s a welcome distraction. He’s good at being busy, good at being tired and sleepy and snuggly at the end of the day, too. 

“You’re like a toddler,” Liam says, laughing as he tries to haul a limp Louis up from the warm nest he’s made on their couch. “It’s like you’re suddenly 50 pounds heavier when you don’t want to move.”

Louis scowles in what he knows from extensive practice is an endearing manner. “Are you criticizing my physique? Some boyfriend you are - ” he cuts off, laughing against Liam’s disarming kisses.

“You know very well how I feel about your _physique_ , babe.” Liam has his arms hooked under Louis’ armpits, dragging him bodily down the hall towards their tiny bedroom, laughing harder as Louis tries to grab hold of the door frames as they pass. “Do you want me to blow you or not?" Liam asks, finally, stuck in the middle of the hallway. Miraculously, Louis finds his feet again. Incredible how well that works.

Louis loves sex, he's always loved sex, but he _adores_ sex with Liam. He loves that it’s both comfortable and adventurous, safe and new all at once, even after almost three years together. Liam transforms in bed, is a force, a presence, takes care of Louis completely. It overwhelms Louis sometimes, makes him feel like he’s completely surrounded by Liam: big hands cradling his wingbones, his hips, his ass, the lilt and husk of Liam’s voice settling under his skin and making him glow. 

Liam’s unabashed in his love for getting his mouth on Louis, for making him feel crazed with sensation, for fucking him until he can’t speak - a seriously impressive feat on its own. For his turn, Louis can’t get enough of Liam, feels like every cliche has shattered in the hollow of his chest and been reinvented there by Liam's careful touch.

He’s insanely fit, sure, but it’s also the way he’s not afraid to ask questions for the both of them, the way he spreads himself open for Louis in every sense, the way he shivers with his whole body when Louis runs his tongue along the cut of muscle leading toward his dick. Fuck, what a dick it is, too. Louis has seen plenty of dicks in his life, some friendlier than others, but he’s never felt such an intensity of affection towards one as he does with Liam’s.

He doesn’t know what Liam has in mind tonight, but he’s never in the business of turning down a blowjob, no matter how comfortable and warm he’d been on the couch. He’s found himself daydreaming of Liam’s mouth too many times in the storeroom at work to feel remotely embarrassed about his fantasies anymore. It’s a great mouth.

“C’mere,” Liam says, leaning himself back on their bed and making grabby hands towards where Louis is shimmying out of his jeans. They still smell like the mango sorbet that had melted all over the refrigerated aisle today. It’s sort of pleasant.

“Impatient, huh?”

“As if you can talk about impatience,” Liam snorts, using his feet to push their cozy down comforter to the end if the bed. He does have a point; Louis is not usually commended for his patience. 

When Louis turns around to smirk at him, Liam’s propped up on one arm, shirt off and one eyebrow raised in a challenge. Louis can’t be blamed for how fucked he is over this kid, not a chance. He pauses, hands tangled in the hem of his shirt as he prepares to pull it over his head, bends to kiss Liam. He’ll never get tired of this.

Louis has already come once from Liam's mouth and his wrists are still pinned in one of Liam's hands by the time he begs to please be allowed to touch Liam in return. He’s broad and warm on top of Louis, chest heaving from exertion and his own arousal, which Louis is all too aware of but hasn’t been able to take care of yet. Liam’s already making motions to let Louis go and flip them around when he pauses, stilling so suddenly that it seems to come from his bones.

“Liam? You okay?”

He breathes out a _yeah_ , but settles down onto the bed on his side instead of rolling them both over, pulling Louis solid against him and hauling their mouths together. One of his hands is tight against the back of Louis’ neck, comforting and thrilling, and the other is sweeping wide, possessive strokes across his back. Louis melts into it easily, letting himself be encased in Liam and the welcoming heat of his mouth for a bit before remembering that he still hasn’t gotten off.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, pulling back against the strength of Liam’s grip, his voice sandpapery and low. “Please, Li.”

There’s a hesitation, a breath before Liam nods, his eyes unreadable. Louis doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t think much about it, either. He has a job to do, and he’s going to do it well.

\- 

They only actually discuss the possibilities once, which is odd. Louis’ certain it’s weighing on them both, that the two of them are equally apprehensive. Unlike when Liam’s normally worried about something and discusses it to pieces, he’s surprisingly quiet about the whole thing. Louis’ nearly bursting out of his skin with the silence.

On the nights he gets home from the clinic early, Liam likes to attempt to cook dinner, sometimes more successfully than others. He’s greeted Louis at the door a few times with a grin and a table set with a feast, and a few more times with a rather bashful look and a smoke-filled kitchen. Louis loves it either way, loves the candles and the ceremony and playing footsie under the table. 

It’s one of the latter nights, some kind of vegetable stirfry gone wrong and newly welded to their best cast iron skillet - hastily made mac n cheese in its place looking almost comical on their best table settings - when Liam brings up the application. It makes Louis’ whole body feel hot with worry, like he’s guilty for something he _knows_ isn’t his responsibility.

“What are we going to do, d’you think?” Liam doesn’t clarify, like he’s expecting Louis to know what he’s talking about. Louis does, but he doesn’t want to.

“What’ll we do about what?” 

It’s hollow, and Louis hates his instinct for denial, reminds himself that Liam was the one who convinced him to submit the application in the first place.

If Liam notices that Louis’ evading, he doesn’t comment. “If you get in. What will we do?” He gestures across the small expanse of table between them with his fork. “How do we make this work if you’re 3000 miles away?” 

Louis shrugs. He feels betrayed by his brain and body, can’t make them react the way he wants them to, in some sort of manner that would suggest the very thought doesn’t make panic rise up in his throat. He’s been thinking about this exact problem without quite thinking about it, avoiding it in the worst and most unsuccessful kind of way. 

“We’ve been apart before. I mean, we went to different schools for a whole year of our relationship.”

“That was different. We were both in Seattle, at least.” 

They’d met during the summer, Liam and his incorrigible work ethic keeping him on campus to get ahead, and Louis taking an infuriatingly tedious summer course called Teaching and Communication at UW on transfer from Seattle University. They had a mutual friend, Niall, Louis’ buddy from home who Liam had met in a biology class and liked a lot. He'd introduced them at an unusually sweaty July party, grinning like he could predict the future. 

After graduating with a degree in microbiology, which was baffling given that no one had ever seen Niall go to class, Niall had become the guitarist for an increasingly famous singing duo and was currently touring the world with them. He’d stayed on Louis and Liam’s couch while the band was in town not too long ago, got wasted and told them that nothing he ever did would ever make him as proud as introducing the two of them had.

Liam was right, though, going to school within the same city was a far cry from trying to make it work across the country.

“I suppose, maybe if we have the summers...” Liam’s voice is quiet, compromising. Like he can’t commit to the gravity of refusing to try staying together long distance.

Louis suddenly isn’t sure. 

“I don't think I could do that, Liam.” He surprises himself, but he knows what he’s saying is true nonetheless. “I’d probably stay in New York during the summers if I go. As much as I’d want to, it just wouldn’t make sense to come back here and try to find a job for a few months, especially with rent on an apartment. Not to mention I can already hear you telling me that I should ‘take advantage of the opportunities while I’m there.’” The pasta is congealing on his plate, looks about as good as he feels. 

Louis breathes out. Liam seems to be waiting for him to say something else, and this is the worst part, and the truest: “I couldn’t go from being with you every day to only seeing you once every few months. I couldn’t.”

Liam sets down his fork, his own mac n cheese still mostly untouched. “It wouldn’t be worth it to you?” He doesn’t sound particularly accusatory, mostly just defeated, but Louis feels his hackles rise anyway.

“That’s not what I said, and you know it. Could _you_ go from what we have now to just phone calls and occasional visits?” Louis can’t make his voice stop wavering. “I know you’ve got unbelievable patience and willpower but tell me honestly that you wouldn’t miss having all of this on a regular basis.” He gestures weakly towards himself, can feel how hollow the joke is.

Liam’s face has gone pale, considering, although he still manages a smile. He’s always got a smile for Louis, that’s half of the goddamn problem. Louis thinks they’ve probably both been avoiding a reality they know too well already. 

“No,” Liam says, almost a whisper. “No, I couldn’t go from having you all the time to something like that. Plus, it wouldn’t be fair to you, asking you to spend time on something miles and miles away when all your energy should be focused on school.”

“And yours on the clinic. You can't leave with me, you'd be miserable,” Louis adds. He refuses to let this be about Liam martyring himself for Louis’ sake.

That’s the whole issue here, that they _both_ want each other and want their dreams, too. Liam has a whole life here in Seattle, has his parents and Andy and an incredible job and all the running and hiking and biking he could dream of. He would be so pent up and unhappy in New York, but determined to suffer it for Louis’ dream, and Louis can’t have Liam resent him. He absolutely will not.

They both owe it to themselves to go after what they’re most passionate about, there’s no question. Just - why couldn’t there be a way to keep each other, too?

“Three years.” Liam isn’t asking a question, isn’t even really looking for a response. Three years, that’s how long the program is, that’s how long Louis will be gone if he gets in, and who knows where he might go afterwards if he’s successful. Hell, three years is longer than they’ve been _together_. Barely, but it is.

“Do you think,” Louis starts, hating the question before it’s even out of his mouth, “that we might have to break up?”

Liam’s eyes across the table are dark and wet. He opens his mouth, looks at the table, seems to think better of it. Louis feels immobilized, staring at him, waiting for him to move, breathe, respond. When he does, it’s to stand, come around the table, pull Louis up to his feet and into a hug.

“We won’t talk about this now,” Liam says, and while it’s a relief to hear, it also winds apprehension tightly in Louis’ chest.

Louis breathes into Liam, lets the fear and unhappiness and difficulty of the situation leech out of him for just a moment as they stand together, leaning into one another. He marvels, not for the first time, at the way he fits just-so against Liam, forehead pressed against his neck, the feel of Liam’s big hand spanning the back of his head. He breathes and breathes and runs his fingers up Liam’s side even as he feels Liam’s telltale deep, uneven breaths against him. 

Liam pulls away, grins shakily at Louis and says, “we’re quite a pair, aren’t we.” Louis smiles back. Things will be okay.

-

Two days before he’s due to find out whether he’s been accepted to Columbia or not, Louis gets a call from his mom. She’s always been like this, has some kind of Louis radar in her for when he’s about to go through something big and it never fails; she’d call on the nights before important tests in college to make sure he was doing alright, wasn’t too stressed, was remembering to eat, and remind him that she would love him regardless for trying his hardest. She’d called him before his first date with Liam, too, even though she hadn’t known about it at the time. 

Louis had told her when he’d applied, but he hadn’t mentioned when he’d hear from them, and yet. Of course she’d known.

“Hey, how’re you feeling, sweetie?” 

Louis takes a deep breath before answering with as steady a voice as he can manage. Something about hearing his mom’s voice when he’s worried always makes him feel wobbly.

“I’m okay, mom. How’re you, how’re the girls?”

“We’re all fine, as usual. Getting by, missing you. The twins started soccer this week, they’re hoping you can come up for a game. How are you, though? How’s work, and Liam? You sound tired.”

Louis laughs a bit, pinches at the bridge of his nose for just a moment. She’s hit the nails on the head, all of them: wondering how he and Liam are as if Louis himself isn’t worried half to death over the same thing, and exhausted from work and apprehension both.

“We’re getting by, too. Things are good. He’s working long hours at the clinic, they really love him. He thinks he’s going to get his own office by New Year’s. Fancy name plaque on the door and everything.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. We’ll have to send him a congratulations present when it happens. Lottie’s been knitting a whole bunch recently, maybe she can make him a scarf.”

“Yeah. That’d be great. He’d love it.” Louis doesn’t really know what to say past that.

“Lou?”

“I’m still here, Mom.”

“Is something the matter?”

“No.” He rolls his eyes at himself. Who is he kidding? “Well, yes. I mean, sort of. I’m just...a little nervous about Columbia. I find out on Thursday.”

He hears his mom draw in a breath on the other end of the phone. If he were with her, she’d be stroking his hair, brushing it back from his temples like she had when he was a kid and couldn’t sleep. He closes his eyes, leans back against the counter. The edge of it is damp from when Liam had done the dishes earlier, and he can feel it seeping into his shirt. He doesn’t move.

“I thought it might be soon. That’s exciting,” she says after a moment, “but I imagine a bit scary, too. Have you two talked about it?”

Louis means to say a lot of things. He means to tell her that they _have_ talked about it, that they’ll make something work, that he probably won’t get in anyway. He means to laugh and reassure her that he’s fine and Liam’s fine and everything’s fine and if he does get in he’ll be nothing but ecstatic. What he says instead is, “If I get in, I think we’re going to break up,” and almost crumples but for his unoccupied hand gripping the edge of the counter so hard he thinks he’s going to take a chunk off in his hand. 

“Oh, Louis. Sweetheart,” she says, her voice heavy with sympathy. “Are you sure?”

“We don’t think it’s fair to do long distance,” Louis explains, “because we both have too much else to focus on, and if I really go for it I should be trying to work in the city during the summers, you know, and then I probably wouldn’t move back afterwards, either.” 

He tries to pause, to let the words come out at a reasonable pace. His mom is quiet, but he knows she’s listening. 

“Liam isn’t going to move, either. I didn’t ask him to, and I know how much he loves me, but he is so, so happy here and at his job. It’s a huge deal that they hired him, he can’t leave, he’d hate New York. I just - we can’t expect each other to wait for _three years_. That’s not fair to anyone.”

He might be speaking for both of them, but he’s pretty sure he’s saying the truth.

“Oh, Lou.” 

She hasn’t actually asked, but Louis feels like he has to justify it further, needs to explain himself, make it seem like a reasonable thing they’re contemplating. 

“I mean you’d have to listen to me moping all the time, and I’d be busy wishing I was with him rather than letting go and being happy, you know? I don’t want to feel like I’m putting part of me on hold and I don’t want him to feel indebted to me. He deserves to have someone here and present and able to give him everything - ” Louis stops when his voice breaks.

He’s saying things, rational things, true things, things that make him want to go to bed and never get out of it. It’s like his mouth is completely disconnected from his brain, from the parts of him that are already throwing a tantrum about the whole thing. He can explain this logically, but he can’t accept it. 

“There just isn’t another answer, I don’t think, that wouldn’t make us both more unhappy in the long run.”

“Well,” his mom says after a bit, her voice a little shaky. His mom _loves_ Liam. “Well, I do see what you’re saying. That sounds so difficult.” Louis squeezes his eyes shut, wills himself to breathe. If his _mom_ can’t think of a better solution, it’s probably hopeless. 

“If you have to break up, you should do something, you know?” She says at last. Louis isn’t quite sure what she means, but she explains before he can ask. “Something to celebrate you two and all you have together, yeah? What about taking the trip you’ve been talking about?”

Louis thinks about it for a moment. It’s not a bad idea, although maybe it’s a terrible one, too. They have been discussing a road trip down the coast for a long time, and Liam might be able to use his few vacation days for it. _If_ Louis gets in. “Good idea, mom,” he says. “We’ll think about it. This is all hypothetical anyway, I really, really don’t think I’ll be accepted.” It’s true, is the thing. He doesn’t.

“I’ve gotta run, something’s burning. I’ll call you when I know about Columbia.” 

“Okay, Lou. Love you,” she says.

“Love you more.” Louis hangs up. The stove is cold. Nothing’s burning. 

-

Thursday comes, and Louis gets accepted to the Columbia University Theatre MFA Program. 

He cries, first and foremost and almost entirely out of relief and excitement and disbelief. It’s a good feeling, it’s _great_. Liam kisses his eyelids, his nose, picks him up and swings him around by the waist.

“My little _scholar_!” he crows, ducking his head a bit to kiss him again, over and over, tiny little presses of his lips to Louis’ face. Louis is laughing and still crying a bit out of surprise and disbelief, the email open on his computer on the dining room table. He still isn’t sure it’s not a hoax, a joke. 

“I did it,” Louis says, and he thinks he might break his face off if he smiles any harder.

“You fucking _did_ it,” Liam echoes, and goes to get the champagne from the fridge.

By some sort of unspoken agreement, they don’t talk about the _thing_ that’s hanging in the air over them, not yet. Instead, Liam gives him a congratulatory massage after their shower as a conclusion and reward after months of stress, even whips out a forgotten bottle of essential oil from under the bathroom counter and raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Ready to smell like ‘Mountain Breeze Jasmine’?” he asks, smirks as he wafts the bottle under Louis’ nose and wiggles his hips a bit.

“That sounds like a candle my grandmother would have in her bedroom, shit. Did _we_ buy that?” Louis is laughing too, his chest fluttery and bright and his fingers trembling from adrenaline. 

He’s going to _Columbia_. He got in. He’s good enough. He loves Liam.

“I think Niall gave it to us, didn’t he? Apparently their fans send them all kinds of erotic presents and he thought it was something we’d appreciate.”

“Is that when he tried to give you that massive purple vibrator? I’m still mad you refused to take it.”

“You know I’m too ticklish for a vibrator, Lou,” Liam laughs, his face pinked in the most endearing way. “He refused to let me go without taking something though, and this was it.”

“Comes in handy, that Niall. You think he actually believed we’d ever use this?” Louis grins as he lets Liam arrange him stomach-down on the bed and straddles his hips, both of them stripped down to their underwear. Matching Calvin Kleins, no less, just exactly as gross and domestically cute as their friends accuse them of being. 

“Remind me to send him a thank you - ” Louis tries, breaks off to groan. Liam’s settled himself to sit over the swell of Louis’ ass and is kneading into his shoulders, pressing deep and slow. He digs in with his fingers, the sensation and the slick of the oil drawing noises out of Louis that have probably been outlawed on several continents. If they haven’t been yet, they should be.

“Your _hands_ , Liam, Jesus - fuck, I - _fuck_ ,” he scrambles out, goes quiet after a particularly satisfied and filthy-sounding moan.

“Maybe we _should_ thank Niall,” Liam muses above him, his hands teasing and hot right in the dip of Louis’ back. “God, I love your body.” 

After a bit, the massage devolves into just touching, careful explorations with his hands. Liam’s fingers skate over Louis’ skin so easily; up and down the divot of his spine, the sides of his neck, nails skating just on the undersides of his biceps and across his ribs, all the places he’s marked as his countless times before, until Louis is writhing beneath him, heavy with want.

“Fuck me,” he says, “fuck me, fuck me please,” and it’s Liam’s turn to groan. For all their joking earlier, their laughing and celebration and the smell of what is apparently meant to be a mountainside field of jasmine in the air, everything feels suddenly serious, weighty. 

Liam complies, easily. He always complies.

He rolls them carefully onto their sides, Liam’s chest pressed close against Louis’ spine. Liam tucks his arms around Louis, presses one hand into his belly and curls the other up over Louis’ shoulder after he’s used it to open him on three of his fingers. “Don’t tell me that’s it, you tease,” Louis whines, arches and shivers hotly as Liam’s open mouth trails down the back of his neck and over the top of his spine. 

Liam fucks him like that, on their sides, which is a first. Somehow, for all their months - their _years_ \- together and all the ridiculous things they’ve tried in bed, it’s never quite been like this. Liam fucks into him long, smooth, sure. His top knee bends, tucks up between Louis’, one hand still pressed big and sure against Louis’ belly and helping him grind back against Liam’s cock. 

Louis is whimpering as he’s getting close, his dick untouched and Liam _everywhere_ , tiny cries escaping him that he can’t seem to get a handle on. Liam fucks them out of him, makes his own noises deep in his throat whenever Louis can’t control his little moans, slips two of his unoccupied fingers into Louis’ mouth when neither of them can stand to listen to him anymore.

“I’m so - ” Liam’s rhythm is faltering, rough as he murmurs against Louis’ back, pausing to plant a sloppy kiss against his rounded shoulder. “So fucking proud of you,” he manages to finish. “Knew you’d get it, you’re brilliant, you deserve it, I love you - ”

He cuts off abruptly when Louis bites down on the fingers in his mouth around a whimper, his eyes prickling again. God help him if he’s cried so much in the past _year_ as he has in this one night.

“You gonna come for me, Lou?” Liam asks, “Without me touching you? Can you do that?” Louis nods, barely. He can do this, he knows he can, he wants to.

“Love you,” Liam says, “I love you so fucking much. I love you. I love you. I love you."

Louis opens his eyes as wide as they’ll go when he comes.

-

They decide, after all, to take their road trip together, to commemorate their relationship before it has to end. The spring passes in a weird haze of uncertainty, both of them knowing that things are on the brink of change but agreeing to ignore it and live in the bubble of serenity they have left.

They leave on a Sunday morning. 

Liam’s managed to scrape up an entire week off of work, although it means he literally can't miss a day for the rest of the year, which he’ll honestly love. He has so much _fun_ at work, it’s astonishing to Louis. Plus, with an empty apartment to come back to, knowing Liam...he’ll just try not to come back at all, will work late and end up crashing with Andy most nights. Louis’ll have to stop himself from reminding their friends to make sure he’s sleeping and having meals and all that, not just working constantly. 

They’ll have a whole eight days for the drive, which sounds all at once like a lifetime and like no time at all to Louis. They’ve decided it’s not so much about any one destination but more about seeing places along the way, driving together, setting down pieces of their relationship along the way like it’ll somehow be less painful than just doing it all at once.

They’re travelling in Liam’s car, his forest green Subaru, loaded with blankets and pillows for sleeping in the back, a few changes of clothes, a cooler full of food and plenty of snacks, too. 

(Liam had declared himself Snack Captain in the grocery store and had taken the job _very_ seriously. “Yeah, pretzels are great Lou, but we need peanut butter filled ones too. Protein for the road, you know?” he'd explained in the cracker aisle. He had let Louis get away with sneaking Milano cookies into the cart, though.)

Liam’s made reservations at several hotels along the way, but for the most part they’re planning on switching off sleeping in the backseat and driving during the nights, stopping during the days to see various landmarks. 

Louis’ stuff is already packed into boxes for maximum shipping ease. They’ll arrive home from the trip and then he has a week before Columbia starts, so he’s shipping his things to New York and taking his one remaining suitcase to his mom’s. He wants to say goodbye to her and the girls before a new era and all that. It’s all very surgical and precise and he and Liam have talked about it without actually talking about what any of it’s going to mean. It makes him feel ill.

They don’t initially expect the rules when they discuss the trip; those come later, as they’re packing up the last of the car, Louis trying to throw in things like one rainboot and a log of firewood just to see if Liam catches him. He does, every time, laughs and kisses him and makes him take the offending item back inside to trade it for something useful. 

When the car is full, they clamor in, settle into the front seat in their cloaks of pre-trip anticipation and excitement, plus a dizzying undercurrent of uncertainty and anxiety. 

Liam is clearly steeling himself to stay something, his hands gripping the steering wheel even though they’re still parked, his shoulders tense. 

“What is it, Liam?” Louis doesn’t like the hesitation. They don’t have trouble talking to each other, that’s not going to change now.

“I think we need to have some guidelines.”

“What exactly do you mean? Guidelines for what?”

“Rules, you know, to help us. Things we have to stop doing along the way, so we can be platonic by the end. That’s sort of the goal, right?” 

It sounds impossible. It _is_ impossible, but Louis sees what Liam means. “Do you think it’ll be easier like that?”

“Well. I’m certainly not going to know how to stop touching you and kissing you and loving you without a little guidance.”

“Okay.” Louis wants to throw a tantrum, throw something at Liam, throw _himself_ out the window, but instead he pulls a pad of paper out of the glove box, takes the pen Liam hands him. 

“What’s first?”

It takes them a bit, some negotiating and a lot of carefully stoic faces as they compile the list. Louis still has the peculiar sensation that once again they’re talking about things without actually talking about them, like they can’t begin to think about the emotional components of what they’re discussing or they’ll never make it out of the driveway.

In the end, they take it one day at a time; day one is normal, whatever that means now, and from there they hash out some basic restrictions, things they have to stop doing along the way: saying I love you, holding hands, kissing, any and all unnecessary touching. Day eight just says: _Platonic_. Louis has never hated a word more.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” Liam says. He’s smiling, but his eyes are sad, and he looks away abruptly to start the engine. It’s a familiar hum, a sound Louis usually loves because it means Liam is nearby. Right now it’s signalling both a beginning and an end, and Louis is already so very tired.

“Well, we’re off!” Louis says after a moment of gathering himself, cheerful as he can manage, leaning over to tug affectionately at Liam’s hair. (How many days until that isn’t allowed?)

Louis’ made them road trip CDs of their favorite songs, pops one in and grins as Liam throws himself unabashedly into a riff competition with Rihanna’s recorded voice. He is, and will forever be, an undercover fan of Rihanna in the biggest way. It was one of the first things Louis learned about him and may or may not have been an instigator for his enormous crush. Louis’ caught him multiple times just scrolling through the Google image search results for “Rihanna singing hot” on his laptop before bed.

This, according to the rules, is their last day of being _normal_ , their last day as a real couple, their last whole, untarnished day as LiamandLouis. Louis is going to revel in it, soak it up, hope it can sustain him for the next immeasurably long time.

-

They make it over the border and into Oregon in just under four hours, stopping almost immediately to get out and jump up and down right where they imagine the physical line of the border must be.

“Let’s take a photo!” Liam suggests, bouncing cutely on the balls of his feet. They both hesitate for just a moment as they realize that, for once, they might not actually want to document this, the unravelling of their relationship. Liam’s excited smile goes tinny, slides out from behind his eyes.

“Never mind,” he says, makes back for where the car is parked precariously on the shoulder of the road under the looming pines. There’s hardly any traffic; they’d picked a back route for exactly this reason. Louis catches his wrist just in time, tries not to tally it in a countdown of how much longer he’ll be allowed to do exactly that.

“You call me selfie queen for a reason, babe.” He pulls Liam’s arm over his shoulder, tucks up against him easy and safe. He can do this, he can make it okay. He’s the one leaving, after all. 

They take two photos and Louis marvels, later, at how genuine their smiles are in the first one. In the second one, Liam had turned his face towards Louis at the last moment without Louis noticing, his nose nearly brushing Louis’ hairline and the expression in his eyes making Louis’ skin crawl with affection and sadness. He almost deletes it, but can’t.

The Oregon coast is bright and open and winding, tiny byways along the ocean leading them closer and then farther from the choppy waves, the gulls swooping in calling to one another. 

“You know,” Liam muses, after they’ve passed the third Waffle House in an hour. Whatever Louis’ expecting him to say, “I believe you once mentioned a certain desire to give someone road head,” is certainly not it.

Louis chokes very quietly on the Sprite Liam had bought for himself at the last gas station. Liam preferred Diet Coke, but Louis likes Sprite best and was always going to end up drinking most of it, anyway. 

“What on earth could you be insinuating, Mr. Payne?”

“Just starting a casual conversation, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Ah, yes. Casual.” Louis thinks for a long, hot moment. This is it, honestly. This is their day. “Pull over.”

“What?”

“I said pull over. As much as I want to blow you right now, I also don’t want to die.”

Liam drives for another three minutes, his face flushed and eyes studiously on the road until they find an exit off of the small highway they’re on, wending sideways into a small copse of trees. Liam parks, turns the car off but keeps his arms stretched out, hands on the wheel.

“Liam,” Louis says.

“Louis.” Liam says back.

“Liam, you gotta move your hands.” Liam lets out a breath, takes one more furtive glance out the window to make sure that they are really, truly alone, and then drops his hands to his lap. Louis’ out of his seatbelt in a moment, kneeling over the console and unzipping Liam’s jeans. They’re his favorite pair, the ones Louis'd bought for him when they’d first started dating and he was still working at Banana Republic part-time.

Liam lifts his hips as much as he can, the pants catching on his already fattening cock on the way down. Louis’ mind is blank, completely focused only on how badly he wants to taste Liam.

It’s one of the dirtiest things Louis’ ever done, he thinks; it feels every inch the fantasy he’s imagined it to be, kneeling in his seat, ass up towards the window and his own dick pressing heavy and promising against his fly. Liam is comforting and thick and hot in his mouth, familiar but still overwhelming. He’s grounded in the smell of Liam, soap and cologne, in the hair leading down his belly, the softness at the crease of his hip.

Liam’s making nonsense sounds above him, one hand gripping at the car door and the other fisting in Louis’ hair, tugging just hard enough at times that Louis feels wild with it, the sharpness keeping him from flying apart. When Liam comes, the side of his fist hits the window with a thud and he’s barely finished before he hauls Louis up his body and into a kiss, the hand tangled in his hair leading the way as Louis clamors over the gearshift and into his lap with all the grace of a newborn colt.

Liam’s never been shy about how much he likes tasting himself in Louis’ kisses, and Louis will never stop finding it extraordinarily hot.

“Louis, fuck,” Liam manages, pulling back to clunk his head against the headrest and run his thumb over Louis’ mouth. He can feel that his lips are swollen, fucked and wet, imagines a bit smugly how good they must look.

Liam lets out a laugh, suddenly, his smile bright and instant and a shock through Louis' dazed haze of satisfaction and arousal. “Thank god I wasn’t driving during that,” he says, rubbing a hand down his face and grinning.

Louis snorts too, ducks his head to press it into Liam’s shoulder, leave an imprint of his smile there. “I told you,” he says. Liam’s skin is warm through the soft fabric of his shirt, bleeds through and manages to settle Louis' heartrate just enough that he can think clearly again, although not for long.

“C’mon,” Liam says, pressing the words into Louis’ hair and shifting them so that he can work Louis’ pants open and down his thighs. He holds up his hand for Louis to lick, and then slides it between them to fist at Louis’ cock where it’s been sadly neglected, smearing slick across his stomach.

“Ah, shit,” Louis hisses as Liam grips him with just the right amount of pressure, his thumb _almost_ harsh as he rubs over Louis with a dexterity that only comes with extensive practice and attention. “Shit, Liam.”

“That feel good?” 

It’s rhetorical, but Louis answers anyway, nodding against Liam’s shoulder. They’re both resting against each other, now, heads bowed so they can watch Liam work. Louis can feel how close he is, the pulsing sear spreading through his abdomen that means he can’t hold off much longer. 

“Here,” he says, reaching out and rucking the front of Liam’s shirt up so his skin is exposed. “Can I, please?”

“Yeah, of course, whatever you want, babe."

“Just - just let go for a minute."

Louis regrets the loss of Liam’s hand immediately, even though he'd asked for it, but he makes up for it by scooting forward just enough that he can fuck up against the newly bare expanse of Liam’s torso. He feels like he might collapse inwards at the sensation; it’s dry, but he’s slick with precome and it's just enough that he can rut easily against Liam, who’s helping with his hands to pull Louis in towards him.

“Come on, Lou,” Liam says, and leans in to suck a bruise right against the damp, sensitive skin of Louis’ neck. “Baby, baby, baby, come on, c’mon babe.” He’s chanting, low and steady and so overwhelming in Louis’ ear that he almost sobs when he comes, pressed up close and sweaty and safe against Liam in the front seat of the car, barely avoiding making a mess of his shirt where it's still scrunched up in Louis' hand.

“Pretty sure I’m going to have your steering wheel imprinted in my back until I die,” Louis says as they clean up with the pack of tissues that Liam is fastidious about keeping in the car. Louis' made fun of him for it before, but he sees their appeal now.

“Better than a tattoo,” Liam adds, and then, like it’s just occurring to him (which Louis is almost certain it isn’t), “this might be something to tell Niall about.” He has the triumphant kind of glow that always rides on his skin after he’s done something really dirty, like get off with his boyfriend on the side of the road. Safe to say it’ll be something checked off of both of their bucket lists. 

-

The heat and excitement and fierceness fades a little when they pull back out onto the highway. It’s still bright out, the promise of a sunset just beginning to be made good, and they see license plates for Alaska _and_ Hawaii within ten minutes of each other, which has to be some kind of record. Something feels different, though, charged and dangerous and heavy with potential between them in a way that it hasn’t been so far. It makes Louis’ skin crackle.

Louis tries to imagine a lot of different things as they drive: he thinks about living on the edge of a different ocean, tries to imagine himself in the clustered New York streets, bundled up against a real winter. He pictures Liam coming home to an empty apartment. He thinks, too, about them running away, taking a boat and sailing out over the waves and spray next to them, finding an island all for themselves. 

He imagines Liam coming home to an apartment that isn’t empty, too, one that’s full of someone who isn’t Louis.

“How’s Jade been?” he asks, turning to Liam. He needs to stop _thinking_ , needs something that they can talk about easily or it’s going to be a very long eight days. 

“She’s doing really well,” Liam says, turning down the music. 

Jade is a friend of both of theirs from college, Niall’s ex-girlfriend and the newest employee at Liam’s clinic, having just graduated. She’s been working the front desk, mostly, with promises of moving up the ranks soon. 

She’d been so incredibly nervous and excited about the job the last time they’d seen her - and coincidentally, still hilariously in love with Liam. Liam insists this isn’t true, but Louis knows what it feels like too well not to recognize it in someone else. He’s always imagined that in a world where he and Liam hadn’t met, Liam and Jade would long since be together. She’s a sweetheart, and he sure can’t blame her for being totally infatuated with his boyfriend. He's confident Liam thinks his legs are hotter, anyway.

“I’m so glad. Do you see her friends ever?” Louis loves the crew Jade had hung out with in college, even if he was secretly intimidated as hell by most of them, Leigh Anne in particular. At least, he likes to think it's a secret.

“Occasionally. They made cookies for her to bring on her first day.” Liam smiles sheepishly. “I ate four.” 

“ _Four_ cookies?” Louis barely manages to look scandalized around his grin.

Liam takes his hands off the wheel just for a moment to shrug, _caught me_. He smiles back at Louis.

Louis feels quite triumphant about this knowledge. He’s always trying to get Liam to eat as many sweets as he does. “Who are you, me?” 

“I can only dream.”

“You’ll need about six times as much ass before that particular dream can come true.” Louis wriggles in his seat, settling happily like he’s won some kind of argument.

“Only six? Wow, I was thinking at least eight, but I’ll take it.”

Liam’s smiling, an honest, beautiful smile, and Louis puts his feet up on the dash, presses his fingers into his thighs. He’s grinning, too, and the air from the window feels cool on his face. If he could pick a moment to live in from here on out, he thinks this one might be it.

-

The first day passes as smoothly as Louis could hope. Liam sleeps in the back of the car during the night, after driving until sundown when Louis takes over behind the wheel. He has to scoot the seat forward an astonishing amount to make it comfortable for his feet to reach the pedals, flipping Liam the finger when he snorts from the backseat.

Louis goes slowly, takes his time with the trek; there’s no rush and he doesn’t want to cover too much ground too quickly. He readies himself for the impending start of their first rule, for the end of “I love yous,” thinks ruefully that it shouldn’t be too hard given how terrified he was to say it the first time.

(It had been almost their six month anniversary, six months since they’d stopped dancing around each other and started dancing with each other, so to speak. Louis’d never had trouble telling someone he loved them before, especially when he meant it so much, was frustrated with himself for being so nervous. He kept waiting for The Right Moment until he was so worked up and apprehensive that he’d shown up at Liam’s apartment on a stark January day and said “Alright _look_. I love you,” rather aggressively when Liam had opened the door.)

Liam wakes up bleary-eyed when Louis pulls into a cafe around 6:30 am, rubs his hands sweetly across the backs of his tired eyes. Louis’ drawn in by the glow of the lights and the promise of coffee after a long, mindless stretch of predawn highway, as well as his third listen-through of Niall's first CD. 

They'd received it before its release date, signed by him, and Harry and Zayn as well. _Track 4,_ Harry had scrawled across the back of the case, _Niall talked about you two a lot while we wrote it_. 

It's called _Sugar Rush_ , and although Louis will deny it to his grave, he full-out cried the first time he heard it.

“Where are we?” Liam asks, the neck of his hoodie drooping down and the sweet bags under his eyes that Louis finds endlessly endearing made especially prominent with sleep.

“Ashland,” Louis says. “We made good time. Do you want to come in, or do you want me to just get you something?”

“Give me a minute, I’ll come with you.” He’s moving slowly but deliberately, pulling on his shoes, yawning hugely. Louis tries to pretend he isn’t watching, climbs out of the car just to give himself something else to do.

It’s summertime, but summer in the Pacific Northwest before the sun has risen can still be damp, cool. Fog is rising in tendrils over the trees, steamy in the growing sunlight. Liam unfolds himself from the car and stretches, his sweatshirt riding up unfairly high. Louis looks away.

“How’s your back?” he asks, trying to keep things light and easy between them. He’s feeling stiff just from driving, can’t imagine what sleeping in the backseat must’ve done to Liam’s muscles.

“It’s been happier. Thanks for driving, babe.” Liam reaches out, squeezes the back of Louis’ neck, kisses him quickly. Louis breathes through it, drags him back for a second little kiss when Liam makes to pull away.

“Only allowed to do that for a little longer,” Liam says, looking at Louis still sleepy but very serious. So much for staying light. “Let’s go get some breakfast, yeah?”

The cafe is quiet and lovely, the ceiling high and made of massive old wooden beams, the tables gleaming and the coffee hot. Louis picks his way around a croissant, asks for his own spoon solely in order to sneaks bites of Liam’s oatmeal. He’s put so much brown sugar in it that it’s practically a dessert, but Louis refrains from jibing him about it.

“Where are we headed today?” he asks instead.

“I’d love to walk around Ashland for a bit, and then I think we’ll cross the border into California later this afternoon,” Liam says. “I want to try and see the redwoods.”

“Is that where your mom recommended we stop?”

“Yeah, she says it’s spectacular. She wanted to honeymoon there until dad surprised her with tickets to Hawaii. She said we have to make sure and send her photos.”

“Anything for Karen.” Louis’ teasing, but he means it. Liam’s mom is wonderful.

The windows of the cafe are still foggy when they leave, Liam tipping their sweet waitress very generously. Louis pauses as they’re making their way back to the car, the temptation too great. He uses his pointer finger to write his name in the condensation, smearing through the wet to shape the letters before turning back to unlock the car and deposit his sweater before they go exploring. He can feel the impending heat of the day already. 

Liam hovers behind for a moment, and it isn’t until he tosses his own sweatshirt into the car over Louis’ shoulder that Louis looks back at his name on the cafe window. Liam’s added something just above it in his own handwriting.

_Liam Loves_ he’s written, so that now the message reads, _Liam Loves Louis_.

Louis lets out a long, slow breath, feels Liam close and warm and sure right behind him. “One last time,” Liam says. “Just one last time.”

-

They drive slowly through the afternoon and into the night, meandering, stopping to explore and to eat at an incredible pancake place sometime after midnight. Louis gets his with extra whipped cream, manages to get some on Liam’s nose and a bit in his eyebrows as well. (“You look so distinguished like this,” Louis says, Liam laughing and grabbing for the napkins that Louis’ holding just out of reach.)

Liam’s driving through the night, this time, just until they reach the redwoods around three am. He pulls into a parking lot at the park that’s meant for overnight visitors and climbs into the backseat; Louis wakes up just enough to help him put the seatback down and to spread out the rest of the blankets and pillows until they can both sleep in relative comfort. 

Neither of them resist curling into each other, Louis’ arm secure across Liam’s chest and holding them both tightly to something invisible but important.

They end up spending a whole day wandering through the redwood forests, awed by the ancient and magnificent life around them. Louis takes innumerable photos as they explore their way through, catching Liam in all sorts of light and angles. He’s really rather pleased with himself.

He texts his favorite one to Karen, a photo of Liam with his head tilted back as far as it’ll go to gaze up at the top of one of the trees. Light is filtering down onto his profiled face, and he’s in a soft t-shirt that Louis already knows smells like Irish Spring soap and sweet mint gum. (He knows this for many reasons, but mostly because that’s the exact same scent lingering on the three t-shirts of Liam’s that he’s already stashed in one of his moving boxes. Not that anyone ever has to know about those). 

Louis’ caught him from far enough away in the photo that he looks dwarfed by the enormous trunk next to him, and Louis admires the composition of the whole thing for a moment before sending it off to Karen. _Liam makes friends with a tree_ , he writes.

_What sweet boys you both are!!_ Karen texts back, an hour later as they’re making their way back out of the park. _Sending you my love._

They sleep in a hotel room for the first time so far on their journey, both of them ready for a real bed. It’s a charming little place, bright and warm and friendly. The windows are open and the evening heat is infused with noise and contentment, makes something fond and soft hum in Louis’ chest.

The woman checking them in smiles kindly and tells them what a lovely couple they make together, and Louis’ face goes hot. The pleasantness simmering in him from the day is threatening to boil over, and when Liam reaches for his hand automatically in the elevator, Louis doesn’t let him take it. He feels, all at once, that they aren’t doing a very good job of staying on their path towards platonic, if that’s what this really is. That’s what they set out to do, they have to honor it, and it’s only going to hurt them more if they don’t.

He’s doing them both a favor, he tells himself, but the darkness in Liam’s face says otherwise.

“Shower?” Louis asks after they manage to get the lock to their room open at last, dropping his duffle on the soft carpet. It’s an olive branch, one he desperately wants Liam to take. 

“You first,” Liam says, and doesn’t look at him.

It makes Louis’ heart ache in a way that is both brand new and familiar, the moment that Liam curls away from him on the bed when they lay down after watching a bit of the Food Network in silence. It feels undeniably like payback for Louis’ earlier refusal to hold hands. It’s also maybe Liam’s own attempt to try and follow the rules more strictly; either way, Louis shouldn’t feel as devastated as he does.

They’d decided not to pay for two beds for reasons that had seemed to make more sense when they’d originally planned the trip; it’s cheaper this way, and it felt silly to split up after they’ve shared a bed for years. 

Looking at Liam now, at the ridges of his spine and the unwelcoming curve of his body, Louis wishes in a tiny part of himself that they’d gone ahead and splurged for separate beds. In some way, it feels like that sort of separation would at least be explainable. This - climbing into bed next to the boy he’s in love with and not being able to touch him - this feels awful, and pointless. 

Louis thinks he might be sick, but he gets into bed anyway. He slides under the comforter but on top of the sheet, so even if they accidentally touch, he won’t be able to feel Liam’s skin against his. He tries to make himself as small, as unobtrusive as possible, wishes he could fold up into himself and disappear.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night, he knows before he’s opened his eyes that he’s alone in the bed. He panics for a just a moment, thinks maybe Liam’s left him spontaneously and for good, decided to sever ties in a less drawn-out, probably much smarter way. The fear lasts for only a moment until he registers the sound of the shower running. He feels hungover on emotion and a new dose of shame for imagining that Liam would ever leave him like that.

Louis blearily makes his way to the bathroom door, knocks against it tentatively and then pushes it open when there’s no response. He just wants to make sure everything’s okay, to hear Liam’s voice for a minute so that he can go back to sleep.

He gets more than that, though. The shower is running but Liam isn’t in it, is instead curled up asleep on the bathmat next to the tub. He looks small and vulnerable in a way Louis has never, never seen him, his untouched stubble growing thick and his chest moving without a steady rhythm, even in his sleep. Louis has to bite down on his lip savagely to keep from making a noise. He feels wounded.

If Louis were better, he’d shut the door, go back to bed and try to sleep. If he were smarter, he’d turn off the light and pretend he’d never seen Liam, let him do whatever he needs to take care of himself. If he were capable of being rational, he’d take a deep breath and turn around, like he knows he should. 

Louis is not better, nor is he smarter than the force of his heart, nor is he capable of the kind of rationality it would take to resist this situation. 

Instead he steps into the room and shuts the door behind him, the steam from the shower thick in his lungs as he kneels, drags his knuckles down Liam’s hairline and across his jaw. 

Liam startles awake, turns instinctually into the heat of Louis before he can remember to school himself differently, and even as Louis can _see_ him coming back to himself, he doesn’t move away. It shouldn’t feel like as much of a victory as it is. Louis shifts slowly and carefully until his back is pressed against the side of the tub, pulls Liam’s head into his lap. He strokes absently through his fog-dampened hair, murmurs quiet words to him that disappear into the humid air.

“This is so hard.” Liam’s voice is sleep-gruff and sad. He rolls his head a bit to look up at Louis, defeat written all over the lines of his face. “This is so hard.”

“D’you think this trip was a mistake?” Louis doesn’t know if he thinks it is or isn’t, yet, but he wants to know if Liam does. He _has_ to know. “Have we fucked this up even more than we needed to?”

Liam takes his time answering, slowly and deliberately hauling himself to his knees like it takes a great effort. 

“No,” he says after a moment, looking at Louis intently. His voice is firm and so, so gentle. “No. Our relationship deserved this, yeah? We both deserved this, something more than just waiting it out and me helping you pack your shit up and saying goodbye at the airport. This is better.” He sits back on his heels; his hand stays where it’s come to rest on Louis’ neck. “It’s just hard.”

Louis thinks absently that maybe he should be crying, but he doesn’t really feel like it. He feels sort of hollow, actually, maybe even absent. There’s a little flicker of something bright and good inside of him, though. It’s Liam: Liam not regretting them or this or how hard it is because _it’s worth it_.

“Would you kiss me,” Louis says, not so much a question as a very fragile demand. Liam doesn’t hesitate this time, and Louis is immensely grateful for it. Liam kisses him, soft and fierce and warm all at once. Louis’ back against the tub is cold and his skin is damp with steam and Liam is steady on his knees, his hands firm on Louis’ jaw and his mouth an anchor.

Louis is the one who breaks it, even after all of that. He breaks it because he has to, has to preserve some inch of himself before he throws it out the window for a lifetime of kissing Liam like that. Liam doesn’t fight it, doesn’t frown. He just picks himself off of the floor, turns the shower off, holds a hand out to Louis.

“Let’s get some sleep,” he says, quiet and tired. “We’ve got a lot of driving to do tomorrow.”

Liam doesn’t roll away from him when they get into bed this time, doesn’t reach for him either. Louis slides under both sheets, lets the possibility of their skin touching exist for this night. It’s a tenuous compromise, and it feels bitter and warm all at once.

-

“You know what the worst part of this all is?” Liam’s driving and Louis’ been studiously looking out the window as the coast flashes by, trying to ignore how good and sweet and familiar Liam looks with his tattoos peeking out under his rolled sleeves, hands easy and big on the steering wheel.

“I could guess?” 

Liam looks away from the road unravelling in front of them to grin at Louis, easy despite how hard this feels. “Nah. I won’t make you. I was just going to say that not being able to touch you makes it feel like the beginning all over again. I keep getting butterflies when our hands brush, all that cheesy stuff. ”

Louis lets his head loll against the window frame, smiling a little at his reflection in the sideview mirror. He knows exactly what Liam means. “I wanted to touch you so badly for so long but I didn’t think I was allowed.”

Liam laughs a little. “God, same. How much time did we waste worrying?”

“I can’t even think about it,” Louis says lightly, although he means it quite literally. He _can’t_ think about it, those weeks during which he and Liam made eyes at each other but were too uncertain and too hopeful about each other to take the risk of rejection. 

The truth is that wasted time is any moment from the last few years that he hasn’t spent touching Liam, which is already an abominably large amount. He just doesn’t have any more time to waste.

It’s a heavy kind of quiet in the car, just for a moment before Liam says, “I guess the only difference between then and now is that now I know for sure I’m not allowed.”

Louis’ breath catches, but he wills it to even out, to stay quiet. There’s a bite in Liam’s voice that scares him, makes him want to take everything back, to climb inside of him and smooth out the troubled spots that Louis himself is responsible for putting there. He’s the one leaving, after all.

“You’re always allowed to touch me, you know that.” Louis realizes it’s no longer true before he even finishes the sentence, but he can’t help cringing back when Liam voices the same thought.

“Not really, I’m not. Not anymore, yeah? That’s the whole point of this, that we slowly stop touching and being _together_ all the time so that we can eventually feel okay about it, right?”

“Feeling _okay_ about this would be a goddamn miracle.” Louis’ mouth is dry. 

Liam puts on the turn signal, coasts the Subaru down an exit that Louis doesn’t recognize from any of their maps or planned stops. 

“The sign said there’s a lookout down here,” Liam offers shortly by way of explanation, and then, “yeah, you’re right. It’s never gonna be okay.” 

He pulls into the small outlook, parks and presses his hands against the wheel. Liam doesn’t look at him, just stares straight ahead at the drop to the ocean, which Louis is certain would be quite picturesque if he could tear his eyes away from Liam’s unhappy profile. 

“When you let me sleep in the back while you were driving yesterday, I had a dream that you met a beautiful actor in New York and that he was whisking you off for a Paris wedding,” Liam says, and Louis feels his neck growing hot. Liam’s face is far too serious for his comfort. “You looked great in your wedding dress.” Liam’s trying for joking, Louis can hear it in his voice, but it falls flat in the quiet, heavy air of the car. 

“Yeah well,” Louis says, because he feels sad and mean and tired. This has got to be the longest breakup in history. “Jade is gonna be waiting for you the minute my plane takes off, hmm?”

“That’s not fair, Louis,” Liam says, finally frowning, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. Louis wishes it felt like the triumph he wants it to be, the evidence that Liam is shaken up just like Louis feels. “You like Jade, don’t knock her like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Louis rolls down his window, lets his hand spread wide in the cool wash of air coming off of the water. “I’m sorry.”

-

On the fourth day, Liam says, “Maybe I should come with you.”

Louis’ driving, and it takes him a moment to register what Liam’s said. When he does, his instinct is to slam on the brakes, but he manages to safely steer the car off to the side of the road instead, the tires crunching on the gravel of the embankment. They’re nearing San Francisco, and the sun has been a constant, friendly presence above them until this point. It feels scorching all of a sudden. 

Louis leans as far forward as his seatbelt will let him, presses his forehead against the hot leather of the steering wheel. He doesn’t think he can deal with this right now.

“Louis?” Liam sounds alarmed, a tentative hand coming out to rest on Louis’ shoulder. “Louis, what’s wrong?”

There’s a long moment, drawn out and ugly and sad, before Louis speaks. “You can’t _say_ that, Liam.” Louis’ trying to calm his breathing, to not snap at Liam disproportionately, but he’s suddenly so, so angry. He knows Liam isn’t trying to make him feel guilty, of course he’s not. He’s too goddamn _good_ to do something like that, and there’s the whole problem.

“Say - say that I might want to come with you?” Liam sounds genuinely confused. 

Louis’ jaw is clenching dangerously. He tries to relax it, pulls his head up from the wheel and presses his hands against it instead, flexing them open and closed just once. “Yes. Yes, that exactly. Do you know what kind of a position that puts me in?”

Liam doesn’t answer, but Louis can feel him trying to puzzle out what he’s done wrong.

“You’re giving me the choice of saying yes, going against everything we’ve talked about and agreed upon _together_ , or saying no and being the bad guy who’s leaving his wonderful life and boyfriend behind to go chase some stupid dream. You’re not being _fair_ , we _agreed_ that this is best and that you want to stay in Seattle with your job and Andy and your family just as much as I want to go to New York, you can’t fucking turn this on me now and force me to - ” he stops, cut off by his own shaking breath. He hadn’t even realized he’d started crying, rubs one hand angrily across his damp cheek.

He doesn’t want to look at Liam, he’s petrified of what he’ll see in his face. This isn’t fair, it really isn’t fucking fair, and he’s so furious with himself for feeling as guilty as he does, but it’s not going to go away. He’s the one leaving, after all, he’s the one shedding the skin of this life and taking off for a career that feels undeniably selfish. God, he’s the absolute worst. It was bad enough to have that knowledge simmering inside him before Liam had reminded him of the fact.

“ _Louis_.” Liam’s voice is rough, low, startles him out of his frantic thoughts and somehow makes the muscles in his shoulders relax all at once. “Lou.”

He turns his head, finally, vision a little blurry. “Baby,” Liam says, and Louis thinks his bones might shatter. Liam’s hands are on either side of his face, suddenly, thumbing softly across his cheekbones. 

_We’re breaking so many rules,_ Louis thinks. 

“I’m sorry,” Liam says. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t even think, I was trying to - I just - I just don’t want to be without you.”

“I know,” Louis says, turning his head more fully into Liam’s hand. “I’m just not sure what to say about this anymore. I think I have to go, and I think you have to stay at home in Seattle, and I don’t know what else to say or if it would make things better even if I did. You don’t actually want to throw away what you have and follow me to New York.” He’s pleased that he’s stopped crying, but he can feel himself shutting down, feel the gates closing as he steels himself against the onslaught of unhappiness. 

He doesn’t like when he turns robotic, blanks out just to save himself. It isn’t fair to Liam, or this conversation, but it’s his best defense right now. He’s got to keep it together somehow.

“I think we should go home,” Louis says. He sounds tired and cold even to his own ears. “I don’t think this trip is working anymore. I don’t think it ever was.” 

Liam’s face drops, but his hands stay still, warm and steadying against Louis’ face. Louis closes his eyes and wills Liam not to say anything that will shatter his resolve, keeps them closed until he feels Liam shift back and sit in his seat, his hands now firmly in his own lap.

“Alright,” Liam says. “Let’s go home.”

-

They turn around early, right there on a winding coastal road in Northern California, and Louis has never, that he can remember, felt so heavy with either relief or dissatisfaction. 

Neither of them want to prolong this any more than they have to; that’s the reality they can both understand, and their impetus for cutting the trip short. Louis feels foolish for thinking something like this could work in the first place, for thinking it’d be anything but impossible to enjoy the thrill of stopping at tiny local antique shops and swinging together on elementary school play structures as the sun is setting, to revel in what is supposed to be an adventure when they’re focused on trying not to be together.

Louis considers it while he drives, contemplates how four days felt like a lifetime when they were focusing on not touching each other, not saying the wrong thing, not kissing, not laughing at old jokes, not raising their eyebrows suggestively at each other when their waitress cooed about what a darling couple they make. They’d even started splitting the tab at restaurants like a couple on their first date, fumbling awkwardly for the receipt and trying to figure out how to cut a tip between the two of them.

(Louis has the sneaking suspicion that they’ve managed to make this all a lot harder than it had to be.)

They don’t end up stopping much at all on the way back, intent more on getting home as soon as they can. Restaurants are ignored altogether; instead they make one big stop at a Safeway right over the border into Oregon to buy supplies for snacking on the go, anything to avoid sitting across from each other and valiantly trying to keep their feet from tangling.

All in all, the drive home takes just under two days of almost nonstop driving without all the detours and adventures of the way down. It’s sickeningly familiar, the journey back through places they’ve already gone, places where they’d held hands for the last time or laughed over Niall’s snapchat of Zayn with his tongue out and eyes crossed while they’d reclined in the backseat, the stars clear and steady overhead.

Louis asks to drive for most of it, tries to take back-roads and detours that are different from their route down just to avoid the ache of seeing those landmarks. He and Liam have very few safe topics of conversation left, it seems. Everything makes them think of the end, of the fractured and increasingly fragile seams of their relationship. 

They’ve even begun to lose the comfortable silences that Louis has always loved best between them, and that makes him saddest of all.

Louis recognizes his own exhaustion in Liam’s face, tells him to get some rest. It’s a bit of a cop out for Louis, a way to avoid the awkward silences between them. Liam, for his part, refuses to lay down in the back and instead stays propped up in the front seat next to him, his body turned as fully toward Louis as he can manage in the small seat. Louis stops listening to the playlists they made for the trip, prefers NPR and Spanish radio stations that crackle with static to the familiar beats of the songs they’ve loved together. 

Louis pulls out their map while Liam’s asleep, reaching carefully around his dozing body to slide it out of the glove box. They’ve just crossed back into Washington, only a few hours from home. The sun is on its way down, burnishing everything in a fiery glow that Louis tries fiercely to hold in his chest, lets it burn through him and keep him from focusing on anything but the road ahead of them. 

He finds a winding route, a web of one-lane highways that will take them around any cities or towns in their way, and that will nearly double the time it takes them to get back. He doesn’t try to pretend that he’s not making excuses to drag the trip out.

-

“Where are we?” Liam’s voice is sleepy and rough when he wakes, the way Louis loves most. It makes him think of late Sunday mornings in bed, Liam warm and heavy with sleep and wrapped around Louis without an ounce of uncertainty. 

“East,” he says, lets Liam look at the map and see for himself what Louis’ doing. Liam spreads it wide, holds it up so the very last patches of sunset light filters through the paper and makes the roadways look like a translucent network of veins.

“Can I break a rule?” Liam asks once he’s traced the path they’re on with his finger. Louis nods, even though he isn’t sure he can hold himself back if they start, if they begin pulling out the bricks from the careful wall they’ve constructed.

Liam reaches across the consol, finds Louis’ right hand, and slots his fingers in between Louis’. Liam’s fingertips are warm and familiar; Louis imagines they’re branding his skin, tattooing him. 

He drives with only one hand the rest of the way home.

-

_Hey, Li!_

_This postcard is a photo of Central Park, as you can see by the handy banner on front that says “Central Park.” It’s exactly 14 blocks from my new apartment and I’ve walked there almost every day so far. There’s a big lake in the middle with all of these waddling ducks who try and steal my food and who you’d think were hilarious. (You’d probably say they remind you of me, and I’d probably try to push you in)._

_I think coming to New York was a good choice. I’m really happy, and I’m so excited about everything I’m starting here. I miss you, though. I miss you so much._

_Maybe I’m not allowed to say this, but I need to make sure you know that I love you. I love you like the way you take your coffee with four packets of sugar, like the cuticles by your thumbs and the way you talk about your mom. I love you like the photo of us on the Oregon border that’s sitting on my new desk. Most of all, I love you 3,000 miles. Every single one._

_Louis_


End file.
